


Simple Gifts

by Lunardrop



Category: OTGW, Over the Garden Wall
Genre: Drabble, Family Bonding, Fluff, Gen, POV Third, post-unknown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-16 12:11:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9270395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunardrop/pseuds/Lunardrop
Summary: Not long after the events that transpired in the Unknown, Wirt and his stepfather begin moving their relationship forward in a positive manner. Just a drabble!





	

There were three thundering raps on the door just as Wirt set his clarinet aside with a deep exhale.

 “Yeah?” he called, squeezing his eyes shut for a few, brief seconds.

“Sorry-” The door swung open with a high pitched creak. “-I know you don’t like being interrupted while you’re practicing-” Then Wirt saw the mop of brown hair combed through with streaks of silver. “But I heard you from down the hall and I was just so impressed!” His stepfather’s smile stretched across face, dimples tucked on either side of his mouth. He bounded towards Wirt with long strides, almost crushing each overturned book and crumpled piece of paper that littered the ground.

“Oh, uh, hey John,” Wirt dug around for a loose thread on his knitted sweater to fidget with. “You can come in if you want.”

Not like he had waited for permission to begin with. John even bothering to knock was at least late night newsworthy in the family’s household.  
Just another quirk of John’s that was scribbled down onto a mental list that seemed to stretch on for an entire notebook. One that Wirt would have picked and pulled apart into a hundred pieces, each shard puncturing his skin like glass. Instead, he dug his fingernails into the moss green coverlet. 

John sat down beside Wirt with a small thump.The warm light casted a glow upon his round face. “What were you playing?” he asked.

“Oh, uh… just a variation of _Appalachian Spring_ , by Aaron Copland,” Wirt’s shoulders bobbed up and down. “Nothing especially challenging, I guess.”

“Well, it would be for someone who’s never picked up the clarinet before!” John grasped the instrument that separated him from Wirt. The coal-black wood was smooth as silk; the well-polished silver keys gleamed and sparkled. He chuckled, “Make that someone who’s only picked it up only once in his life.”

Wirt offered up a grimace which struggled to shape itself into anything that could be labelled as genuine. “Try picking it up a few more times, and see what happens.”

“I’ll look into auditioning into an orchestra first thing tomorrow, but I still think you’re the family’s musician, son.” he winked.

“Please don’t ca-oh, never mind.” Wirt slumped his weight against the plump pillow propped up against the bed frame.

“What?” John looked towards his stepson, but his gaze lingered on the large cut that blemished Wirt’s forehead. The gash extended from his hairline, and trailed down towards his eyebrows end. It was crooked and uneven. Like a trail that had been stamped out by lost wanderers in a wood. Only a few weeks earlier did the blood bubble and congeale along the gnarled path carved into Wirt’s face.

Any trace left of John’s original smile faltered, and then flickered away like a firefly’s bulb. “How’s the…?” he began.

Wirt’s eyebrows shot up. His hand followed where John’s creased expression studied, when his own confusion softened. “Oh. It doesn’t hurt anymore. Only if I touch it,” He demonstrated with a slight brush of the fingers, and a slight shudder of the body. The last of the scabbing and violet and black bruising were fading promisingly away into a memory. “Mom thinks it’ll end up scarring.”

“Are you okay with that?”

“Guess I’ll have to be. Really,” Wirt ghosted over the gash again. “It’s not so bad.”

"You can always grow your hair out a little more if you wanted."

"I guess."

There was a beat of silence choking back any words between them. 

John cleared his throat. “Halloween was a long night for everyone,” he said. His attention had shifted towards the window. Darkness already settled in outdoors, typical for long November nights. The inkinesss seeped into the bedroom. Shadows with their skinny tendrils stretched across the shagged carpet. Neither the stars nor the moon could be made out from the window’s murky portrait. He passed the clarinet back to his Wirt, and got up to flip on the other lightswitch.

“But,” Bright lamplight flooded the rest of the room. Then he rolled the window’s blinds shut. “It must have felt like an eternity for you and Greg both!”

“You’re right about that!” Wirt returned John’s smile at last. This time, lacking any artifice.

John paused for a couple of seconds, and then made his way towards the door. “Keeping going with your music. I know you don’t like being prodded about this but,” Wirt shifted himself towards John. “The band would probably love to have another clarinet player. Just something for you to chew on, and maybe have for a midnight snack.”

“Oh-” He tugged at the end of his shirt collar. “-I think marching band ends with the football season, though.”

“You’re not sure, though?” John cocked his head like a moon faced owl.

“Eh… football’s not something I keep up with.”

“Can’t say I kept up with it either.” and their shared laughter was merry as a bell.

“But… maybe I’ll look into it, for next year. It could be fun.” Wirt said, amiable.

John’s eyes twinkled. “Dinner’s in fifteen, Wirt.” He piped. The tone of his words had a cheerful tilt. His fingers curled into an ‘OK’ sign before he ducked out of the bedroom.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if there's some commonly agreed upon nickname for Wirt's stepfather, and that this is so short! Let me know what you think. :D


End file.
